


in time of test

by blueink3



Series: you got a big old heart in there, david [3]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, D&P Are Not the Two Who Got Divorced, Dogs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, Gratuitous Use of F Bombs, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kid Fic But Not Theirs, M/M, Paternal Instinct, Post-Divorce, child endangerment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29808156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueink3/pseuds/blueink3
Summary: “Max?” Patrick pulls the phone away and double checks who called him. “Bud, what’s going on? Why do you have your mom’s phone?”David sits up at that and gently dislodges Norah because he has a feeling; the kind of feeling people say they get when the air changes in a storm, before lightning strikes or a tornado forms. Personally, David’s never actually experienced either of those things, but The Feeling is universal and he just knows -Something isn’t right.Or, another installment of There It Is, Beating Away involving a first date, an ex, and a revelation that may or may not rock David's world.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: you got a big old heart in there, david [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2164311
Comments: 124
Kudos: 321





	in time of test

**Author's Note:**

> Friends, please heed those tags. This isn't as fluffy as the previous installments. I've posted a spoilery synopsis in the End Notes if you want to check in with that first to make sure this is safe for you. If you have other questions or need further clarification, please don't hesitate to reach out to me. I'm @blueink3 on tumblr. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves and each other.
> 
> Eternal thanks to missgee for everything.

David is restocking the body milk towards the end of an unsuspecting Saturday when the text comes in, vibrating his phone from its perch on the register and sending it clattering gracelessly (and possibly expensively) to the counter. 

“Told you!” Patrick yells from the back, and David rolls his eyes despite the fact that his husband cannot see him. 

“Didn’t ask!” And it’s true, he hadn’t asked for Patrick’s opinion, but Patrick had given it anyway, informing him clearly that if his phone rang, it would not stay in its precarious placement. Naturally, he was right. 

Norah trots out from behind the counter, having been startled from her nap beneath the cash, and stares at him in betrayal. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he _is_ , and he bends down, scratching her ears and smoothing the crease between her eyes. She’s not as wrinkly as she was and she’s slowly growing into her paws, but watching her stumble around like a drunk sailor during Fleet Week is truly one of his day’s highlights. He stands once more and grabs his phone, frowning when he sees Jeannie’s name on the screen.

“Honey? Has Jeannie tried to contact you?” 

There’s a pause before, “Should she have?” 

Not necessarily, but Patrick is usually the one she goes to when she’s not texting them both together. He thumbs open the message and his heart rapidly plummets through his sneakers. 

**[Jeannie]**  
**Crisis.**

Oh fuck. 

**_Is Max okay?_ **

It’s the natural first question, though if it’s a crisis having to do with Max, why the fuck is she texting _him_? 

**[Jeannie]**  
**Max is fine.**

But ‘fine’ is a relative term. David was ‘fine’ when he was sitting in the ER getting ten stitches in his head because Alexis decided to date a professional shot putter. 

**_Are YOU okay?_ **

**[Jeannie]**  
**TBD.**

He stares at the screen and tries to get his bearings. 

**_You do know this is David, right?_ **

**[Jeannie]**  
**I have a date. The first once since the divorce.**

Okay, this is all making sense now. 

**[Jeannie]**  
**Well, the first one I care about.**

Even more sense. 

**_When?_ **

**[Jeannie]**  
**Tonight.**

And Jeannie clearly has _zero_ _sense at all_ because that is _very little notice._ He glances at the clock on the wall. 

**_I’ll be over in an hour._ **

**[Jeannie]**  
**Bring Patrick?**

And David can’t help it, he laughs. 

**_Oh no. I love him more than life itself but you do not want his sartorial opinions._ **

**[Jeannie]**  
**Not for me, for Max.**

**_Oh?_ **

Do people… bring their kids on dates now? 

**[Jeannie]**  
**He’s wrestling with it.**

**_Oh._ **

“Honey?” he calls. “Cancel our reservation.” 

“What? Why?” David hears the curtain get pushed back before Patrick’s hands find his waist. “Everything okay?”

**_We’re on our way._ **

“More important places to be,” he murmurs, locking his phone and shoving it in his pocket as he turns and pecks his husband on the lips. 

“Oh? And what could possibly come between you and Pomodori’s chicken parmesan?”

“A first date,” David grins, clapping for Norah and heading for the door, leaving Patrick to blink in semi-concern behind him. 

“Sorry, who’s having a first date? David, whose first date?”

xxxxxx

“Thank _fuck_ ,” Jeannie blurts as she swings the door back, leaving David to stare at her wide-eyed. 

“Um, hello to you, too.” 

Jeannie looks run off her feet even on her best days, but now, her face is bare, her skin is flushed, and her hair looks like she stuck a fork in a toaster. 

“And what time is this date, perchance?” His voice is entirely too high, but clearly so are Jeannie’s stress levels. 

“7:30.”

“Thank God,” he mutters, getting an elbow in the side from Patrick. 

“Where is he?” his husband asks, and Jeannie gestures with her head through the house. 

“Out back. Moping.”

“Right,” Patrick says with a nod. “Norah? Duty calls.”

The dog, who had been obediently sitting on the mat, jumps up with an excited toss of her head and follows Patrick around the side of the house. 

They’ve come a long way from _You’re not my dad._ A long, long way. Max now spends more time talking to Patrick about things big and small than David does. And, yes, that’s a gross exaggeration but only because Patrick knows all of David’s secrets already. The fears that keep him up at night and the joys that he no longer wants to experience alone. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, turning from watching his husband (and his perfect ass) disappear around the corner to find Jeannie staring at him knowingly. “Not a word.”

“You love him,” she sing-songs.

“I do,” he clips. “Very much. Do you want my help or not?”

“Yes, please,” she says as she steps back and beckons him inside. 

“Good, because this?” He gestures at her whole look. “This is… a lot.”

“Hey now.”

“It needs a lot of help.”

“Okay, the moral support aspect of the evening? C+,” she glares, even though her lips fight a smile. 

“Come on,” he sighs. “I was basically raised on Pretty Woman and She’s All That.”

“Well that’s comforting,” she drawls, though she loops her arm through his proffered elbow all the same. 

She leads him down the hall, and though he and Patrick have been here many times since Max’s birthday party, Jeannie’s bedroom is (obviously) the one room they’ve never ticked off the list. The house is always tidy but lived in, messy in the kind of way that says _a busy person lives here and she doesn’t have time for your bullshit._ Her bedroom today, however, is… not that. 

“Jeannie Cantwell, what the fuck,” he blurts as he stares at a mountain of discarded clothes (still on hangers) piled high on the bed. Jewelry options litter the top of her bureau and he shudders to think of the state of the bathroom. 

“I know,” she moans, collapsing dramatically on the pile, and he winces at the thought of the wrinkles. He doubts she has a handheld steamer. “Dating was invented by the devil.” 

“Well, yes, a _hundred_ percent, but let’s not… do that.” He takes hold of her hand and helps her back to her feet, gingerly stepping over the heels she’s also left scattered around the floor. “Where is this reservation? How fancy are we talking?” 

“Not very. I’m meeting him at the new Thai place in Elm Glen.” 

“He’s not picking you up?” he asks, judgmental eyebrows at the ready.

“Oh trust me, he offered. But Max’s dad is coming to get him - he confirmed with me an hour ago,” she says, pointing at David’s skeptical look, “and I still don’t trust things not to go completely tits up, so I’m taking my own car in case I need to make a getaway.” 

“A real gem, your ex,” David mutters and Jeannie snorts. 

“Don’t I know it.” 

David’s eye catches on a faint outline on the wall where a picture clearly once hung, the edges rubbing a careful square on the cream-colored paint. 

Jeannie must catch him staring, because she murmurs, “Wedding photo” a moment later. 

“Ah.” David turns away and begins to carefully pick through the clothing options tossed haphazardly on the bed. 

“I keep meaning to paint over it, but you know, my boozy bingo club is really digging into my spare time.” 

“Patrick will do it,” he offers and she laughs. 

“Do you often volunteer your husband for other people’s household chores without consulting him?” 

“Yes, always.” Her face goes soft and a little sad, and he knows what he and Patrick have is special, but it’s never been as stark as it is when staring at the evidence of its opposite. When staring at how some things, many things end: messily and with marks no amount of paint coats can cover. He clears his throat and aims for nonchalance. “So tell me about this guy.” He watches a bright, almost-reflexive smile take over her face, completely transforming her. 

“Sam.” She bites her lip. “He’s… great. He’s a lawyer, family law, but he wanted to brush up on his property law knowledge - you know, for all those vacation homes people fight over at arbitration - ”

“Obviously.” 

“... and we met in class.” 

David nods and pulls a v-cut blouse out of the pile that has potential. “So, uh, what’s the deal with Maximus? You like this Sam person, right?” God, the answer’s right there in her eyes. 

“I do, but Max hasn’t met him yet.” Off his raised eyebrow, she elaborates, “We’ve been friends for a while, but it’s only the first date. I don’t - I don’t want Max to get attached to someone until I know they’ll be sticking around.” 

David idly wonders at what point she realized he and Patrick would be here to stay. 

“And on top of it all,” she continues, “my ex is being a dick.”

He hums. “More so than usual?”

“Shockingly, yes. If he can’t have me, apparently no one can.” 

And David can’t keep a wave of disdain from crashing across his face. “How very caveman of him.” 

She rolls her eyes. “A pillar of the patriarchy. And the worst part is that I think he’s saying stuff to Max about it.” 

David frowns. “Like what?” 

“Like,” she sighs, “like if I start dating someone, it’ll ruin whatever family dynamic we have left.” 

“Um, family dynamic?” David did not know he could get so indignant so fast. He feels dizzy. “When was the last time that asshole actually _saw_ his son?” 

Jeannie shrugs, a tired, weighted thing. “I think Father’s Day rattled him. The fact that Max didn’t go with him. He’s been better since then. Not great, but - better. He did offer to watch him tonight.” 

David keeps his opinions on _that_ firmly to himself, even though he’s seen enough Dr. Phil episodes to have very informed ones. 

“Well, happy to kickstart his jealousy whenever you need us to,” he mutters a little sourly, which isn’t fair. Jeannie apparently agrees. 

“Hey,” she says, kicking him gently in the calf, “you’re more than that and you know it.” She narrows her eyes in a way that distinctly says _you know better_. Then she glances around. “Though I will admit, this is definitely a perk.” 

“Kay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves? I haven’t done anything yet.” 

But by the end of their conversation, David realizes he’s absentmindedly pulled out all workable items that actually look pretty damn good. 

“Huh,” he says, stepping back and admiring the grey skinny jeans, deep-cut black blouse, and black heeled boots he’s put together. He plucks out a long but simple gold necklace from the pile on the dresser and holds it up against the plunging neckline.

He feels her hook her chin over his shoulder. “Not bad, Rose.” 

“I’m assuming this Thai place isn’t Michelin rated.” 

“Well, they _just_ opened so who knows,” she teases.

“And I’m further assuming you want to be classy but flirty, and perhaps draw his attention to some of your best…” his gaze flicks down respectfully before returning to her face, “assets.” 

“Quite. I’m not suffering through a pushup bra for someone not to notice.” 

“Excellent. Then off to the shower with you because we definitely need to start from scratch with,” he waves a hand in front of her face and the wild halo of curls surrounding it, “this business.” 

While Jeannie’s in the bathroom, corralling her hair into some semblance of order thanks to the Apothecary’s extra-strength moisturizing conditioner, David wanders back into the hall, sticking his head into Max’s room and smiling at the sight of the NASA lego set still in its place of honor on the shelf and Patrick’s baseball glove resting on his pillow. He continues on through the living room and into the kitchen, pausing at the window over the sink to watch Patrick and Max in the waning evening light. 

They’re sitting on the matching swings that Patrick put up one Saturday afternoon, hanging from the thick branch of the lone tree in Jeannie’s backyard. Max’s legs are too short to reach the ground, but Patrick uses his feet to gently sway back and forth as Norah chases the ball Max throws for her, dutifully bringing it back only to chase it again. They’re talking - laughing, it looks like, which is good - but David can’t make out anything specific. He’s content to stand and watch, though; to watch his husband in his element, surrounded by those who need and love him. 

Max throws the ball hard enough that it reaches the little patio just outside where David is standing and Norah takes off, pouncing on it like a lion on a gazelle, before catching sight of David through the sliding glass door and abandoning the game to paw at the handle that’s entirely too high for her. 

“Okay, okay,” David laughs, sliding the door back and crouching down to pet her wiggling body. He glances up to find his husband staring at him, soft smile right where it always is, and David lifts a hand to give him a tiny wave. Patrick returns it and hops off his swing to give Max a proper push. “You staying in here with me?” David asks the dog, and she answers by pushing past him to sniff around the kitchen. “I guess that’s a ‘yes.” 

“She’s on makeup duty, right?” Jeannie asks behind him and he turns to find her wrapped in a robe, gently toweling her wet hair. 

“Obviously. She’s great with rouge.” 

“Obviously.” 

David hums and ushers Jeannie back to the bedroom, taking the towel from her and dabbing her head as they go. He doesn’t want to dry the curls out too much, but he also thinks he could loosen them a bit with a round brush and a diffuser. He sits her down on the closed lid of the toilet and gets to work, styling her hair first because frizz is impossible to quell once the air-drying process has started, as Norah curls up on the tiled floor. 

“We’ll go light on your lipstick but dark on your eyes. Make those baby blues pop,” he says, accentuating the p and getting a smile from her in the mirror. 

“Thank you, David,” she murmurs, picking at her nails until he gently smacks her hand away. 

“Nervous?” 

“Very.” She smiles wryly. Self-consciously. “It’s been awhile.” 

He meets her eyes in the mirror and inhales, fortifying himself for the yacht-sized boatload of sentiment he’s about to drop on her. “Jeannie, you are… unbelievable. You’re smart, you’re beautiful - if I wasn’t so happily married, I’d definitely be flirting with you.”

“David, you’re always flirting with me.” 

“You’re successful,” he continues, ignoring her, “and you’re raising the best goddamn kid I have ever met. And I hate kids. Like, despise them.” 

She laughs wetly and drops her chin to her chest briefly before meeting his gaze once more. “Except mine.”

“Except yours.” He tilts her chin up. “You’re phenomenal. And any guy would be fucking lucky to have you.” 

“Jesus,” she clears her throat and shifts under his scrutiny, cheeks flushing in a way that has nothing to do with the blush he hasn’t applied, “thank God you haven’t done my mascara yet.” 

They lapse into a comfortable silence after that, and David works diligently, turning Jeannie away from the mirror so she can’t see the final product until he’s good and ready for her to. After fifteen minutes or so, a gentle tap sounds on the jamb and both of them glance up to find Patrick leaning against the frame. 

“It was eerily quiet. Just making sure there’s no bloodshed,” he says, but David promptly shoos him away, nearly tripping over Norah who had perked up at the sound of her dad’s voice. 

“Nope, no. We’re not done.” He blocks Patrick’s view and all but shoves him back into the bedroom where Max is lounging on the bed, kicking his legs lazily off the side.

“Hi, Uncle David.” 

“Hi, Maximus,” he manages, before swiftly slamming the door. 

He completes Jeannie’s makeup, finishing with a flourish of mascara, before stepping out so she can change out of her robe. Norah follows him into the bedroom where Patrick has joined Max, his longer legs also swinging back and forth. David wants to make a quip about finding his husband in another person’s bed, but he pulls out his phone and surreptitiously snaps a photo instead. 

The door opens with a creak a moment later and Jeannie clears her throat, crooking her finger to bring David closer so he can give her one last once over. 

“What do you think?” 

He bites his lips as he looks her up and down. She’s stunning. “This guy better deserve you.” 

She smiles and shakes her head, looking like she wants to hide her face in her hands but she doesn’t want to mess up her makeup. “Flatterer.” 

“Literally hardly ever. Ready?” 

She nods and he pushes the door back so she can step through and greet two sets of eyes that blow wide when she appears. 

“Whoa,” Max blurts and Patrick nods in agreement.

“Whoa.” 

She does a careful turn. “That good, huh?” 

“You look amazing,” Patrick says, prying his eyes away from her to give David a smile and a terrible wink. David preens anyway. 

“Max?” Jeannie asks a little hesitantly. 

“You look really nice, Mom.” 

“Yeah?” 

David catches the slight nudge Patrick gives the kid. “I think Mr. Sam will really like it.” 

“Thanks, baby,” she whispers, stepping forward and cupping his face, pressing a careful kiss to his cheek. “You ready? Your dad will be here soon.” 

Patrick meets his gaze over Jeannie’s head and nods towards the door, and yes, David very much does not want to be here when Richard (forever branded as “Dick” in David’s mind) eventually makes his appearance. 

“Well, we’ll get out of your perfectly groomed hair,” he says as Patrick stands from the bed. 

“Thank you, guys.” 

“I didn’t do anything,” Patrick replies, but Jeannie glances down at Max who’s gently toying with her necklace, all evidence of his previous mope gone. 

“You did.” 

“I expect a text at the end of evening letting me know how it went. And if I have to wait until tomorrow morning for a full report, so be it,” David says with a salacious wink, but panic floods both Patrick and Jeannie’s eyes and it takes him a _second_ longer than it should to realize why. Right. Don’t joke about sex in front of the eight-year-old. 

“Why would it have to wait until tomorrow morning?” Max asks, because of fucking _course_ he does. David wants to melt into the carpeting. 

“In case I forget, baby,” Jeannie replies without missing a beat, swatting at David the minute Max turns his back. 

“I’m _sorry_ ,” he hisses, but Patrick gets his arm around his waist and starts to steer him towards the door. 

“Come on, before you accidentally shove us into a conversation none of the adults in this house is even remotely prepared to have.” 

xxxxxx

They really could have made their reservation at Pomodori’s if they hustled, but makeovers are exhausting and by the time they got home, all David wanted to do was order some pizza and watch _Ever After._ Which is why he’s three pieces into a food coma and slowly drifting off to the feel of his husband’s fingers gently carding through his hair and Norah gently snoring on his chest as Drew goes toe-to-toe (slipper-to-slipper?) with Anjelica Huston on screen. He blinks his eyes open because this is one of his favorite parts, but Drew barely gets Prince Henry over her shoulder before Patrick’s phone is vibrating across the coffee table, interrupting the moment. 

“Noooo,” David whines, shifting his head off Patrick’s thigh so his husband can lean forward and grab the offending device. Even from his upside down position, he can tell Patrick’s frown is genuine as he answers the call. 

“Jeannie? You okay?” 

Jeannie? Yes, David was joking when he mentioned the morning after, but he truly had hoped the date would last a _little_ longer than this - 

“Max?” Patrick pulls the phone away and double checks who called him. “Bud, what’s going on? Why do you have your mom’s phone?” 

David sits up at that and gently dislodges Norah because he has a feeling; the kind of feeling people say they get when the air changes in a storm, before lightning strikes or a tornado forms. Personally, David’s never actually experienced either of those things, but The Feeling is universal and he just _knows_ \- 

Something isn’t right. 

Patrick stands so abruptly, he nearly sends David and the dog sprawling on the floor. “Where are you? Are you safe? Are you hurt?” He’s shoving his feet in his shoes and somehow David is standing as well even though he doesn’t remember doing that because those are not questions you ask someone who is okay. 

His heart thumps out a rhythm that seems to say _Get Max, Get Max, Get Max_ while his panic-scrambled brain wonders where the _hell_ his goddamn _shoes_ are. Norah whines, seemingly feeding off their energy and he can’t blame her because he’s vibrating and yet leaden, needing to pace yet unable to move. 

“Of course we’ll come get you.” Patrick puts his hand over the receiver and whispers, “He ran away from his dad’s,” before returning to the conversation. “Max, I’m gonna put Uncle David on, okay? Talk to him. Just - keep talking to him. We’re on our way.” Then he hands the phone to David, eyes wild but expression determined. “I’m going to crate Norah quickly. Do _not_ let him hang up.” 

David nods and licks his lips as he finally finds his shoes by the bottom of the steps and pulls them on without a modicum of the care he usually takes. “Max?” 

“Yeah,” his little voice wobbles and the sniff that follows nearly buckles David’s knees. 

“What’s going on? What happened?” He tries to keep his tone even and not let the kid know just how fucking petrified he is. Max doesn’t need that burden right now. 

“Dad scared me.” 

“Did he - ” he stares at Patrick as he jogs back, at the not-perfect-but-no-less-wonderful man he married. “Did he hurt you?” 

“No, I’m fine,” Max assures. “I just got scared.” 

“Okay,” he breathes, gripping Patrick’s shoulder and shaking his head, “it’s okay to be scared.” He wants to ask what his father did to make him so frightened, but they can broach that topic when Max is within hugging distance. And what a novel thought that is - David Rose wanting to hug a child. 

Patrick grabs the keys from the hook and pulls the door open, ushering David through. 

“I want to go home,” Max whispers. 

“We’re coming to take you home right now,” he says as Patrick grips tight to his hand and leads him towards the car. “Where are you exactly?” 

“I don’t know, I made a left out of my dad’s house while he was in the bathroom and then I just kept going.” 

Oh Jesus, the last thing they need is for him to get kidnapped and sold on the black market on top of it all. “Max, is there-is there someone who can help? Or can you find a safe place to hide, just until we get there?” he asks as he slides into the passenger seat. The kid’s no Alexis Rose. He’s just a baby. 

“Ask him if he can see a street sign. Or describe where he is,” Patrick murmurs, jamming the keys in the ignition and backing out of the driveway at a speed that has David hanging onto the dashboard. 

“I’ll do you one better,” he replies, getting a hand on Patrick’s tense thigh and gently squeezing. “Maximus, can you pull up your mom’s contacts and find Uncle Patrick’s name?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Good, tell me when you do.” There’s silence for a beat that stretches for longer than David would like. A week passes, at least. “Brewer,” he offers.

“I _know_ that,” Max replies, haughtily enough that David huffs out a laugh despite the circumstances. “I found him.” 

“Great. Open up his contact and click ‘Share My Location.”

More silence. More stretching. “It’s asking me for how long.” 

David glances at the clock on the dashboard. Elm Falls isn’t that far away and at the speed Patrick is driving... “An hour.” 

“ _T_ _hat_ long?” Max squeaks, and Patrick must hear that because his quad tenses beneath David’s palm, and David rubs his hand up and down the muscle, more an expenditure of anxious energy for himself than any sort of comfort for his husband. 

“No, no, it won’t take us that long to get to you, I promise.” He watches Patrick’s mountaineering shoe press harder on the pedal as the speedometer climbs higher. “We’ll be there well before the hour is up.” His phone finally pings with the notification that Jeannie Cantwell is sharing her location and he breathes out a slow breath he hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding. “Max, we’ve got your location now, okay?” 

There’s rustling on the other end of the line before it settles into something quiet. 

“Max?” 

“I’m here. There’s a park. I’m hiding.” 

“You’re in a _park_? At _night_? Maximus, I know Elm Falls isn’t exactly Central Park, but when I said find a place to hide, I meant somewhere less likely to end up on a true crime podcast.” 

“Baby, you’re scaring him,” Patrick murmurs. 

“ _He’s_ scaring _me!_ ” David jabs at the phone again, zooming in on the map of the area. “I think… I think there’s a gas station up ahead.” 

“No, I found the information hut,” Max argues.

“You’re in a hut?” 

“It’s like a phone booth. There are maps.” 

“But, Max, if you go to the gas station, there are lights and people to help - ”

“And those people might know my dad! My dad might come looking! I don’t wanna go to the gas station!” Max cries. 

“Okay,” David finds himself placating as Patrick’s hand comes down on top of his own and squeezes, as if he can calm them both through touch alone. “Okay, Max. Just-just stay where you are then. We know where to find you so just sit tight.”

“I’ll be real quiet.” 

“Good boy.” David presses his head back against the seat and exhales, loosening his grip on Patrick’s leg only when his fingers start to cramp. 

“Uncle Patrick’s still with you, right?” 

“Of course he is. He’s right here.” David puts the phone on speaker and holds it over the console.

“Bud, I’m here,” Patrick says calmly, like he isn’t driving 20 kilometers over the speed limit, like he isn’t white-knuckling the wheel. Like visceral fear isn’t etched into every feature on his all-too-expressive face. 

“Can you stay with me?” 

David watches Patrick visibly swallow. “Of course I’ll stay with you.”

“Both of you?” Max asks, and David’s breath hitches. 

“Both of us,” he quietly replies. The blue dot that signals Max’s location looks like it’s near the parking lot for Elm Falls Park, not far from their disastrous ‘adventure date.’ He tilts the phone so Patrick can see and he nods, the muscle in his jaw jumping. 

“Max, do you see a sign for a ropes course?” 

“Uh huh, I think so. It’s on the other side of the parking lot, closer to the park. But it’s dark over there.” 

“That’s fine, stay exactly where you are,” Patrick instructs. “Do not leave your hut.” 

The drive takes a fucking _eternity_ despite the multiple traffic laws his husband is breaking. They don’t ask Max questions because they don’t want to inadvertently draw attention to him by any potential passers-by (not that they expect any), but they take comfort in the consistent (if unsteady) inhales and exhales that filter down the line. Occasionally, Max will ask, “There?” and one of them will answer, “Here,” just so he knows. 

So they all know. 

It’s more of a comfort than David is willing to admit at this particular moment. 

The tires squeal in protest as Patrick turns into the parking lot, pulling haphazardly into a spot near where the blue dot is pulsing on the phone in David’s hand. 

“There’s the information kiosk,” David points.

“Max?!” Patrick is throwing his door open before the car is barely in park, pulling the keys from the ignition and tearing off towards the trees. 

David gets tangled in his seatbelt because anxiety makes him clumsy and awkward, but he can hear Max both through the phone and now through the open car door and Jesus he could cry. Oh - he is. His cheeks are wet and he’s crying and he doesn’t even _care_ because Max is crying, too. He gets out of the car in time to see the kid come sprinting out of the trees, all but barreling into Patrick who lifts him deftly and holds him close, and David’s pretty sure that if Patrick raised his face from where it’s currently buried in Max’s shaking shoulder, his eyes wouldn’t exactly be dry either. 

The relief is fucking palpable. David could collapse under the weight of it. 

He ends the phone call and hurries over to them, to where Patrick stands with Max wrapped around him like a koala, his arms hooked around his neck and his legs tight around his body. David hurries over and plasters himself to their sides, engulfing them as well as he can, holding them close and feeling them breathe. 

“We’re all right,” he says because, frankly, he needs to hear it, and he runs a hand over the back of Max’s head, pressing a kiss to his crown. “You’re all right.” 

He hasn’t felt this one-two punch of stress and gratitude since the last time Alexis went missing only to turn up a week later in Montenegro with a new body piercing and yet another ex-boyfriend. 

“Honey, give me the keys,” he murmurs in Patrick’s ear after a moment. “I’d really rather not stay out here at the mercy of the moths.” _And others,_ he decidedly does not say, but his husband gets it, if the way he darts his gaze around is any indication. No doubt Max’s father has realized he’s not home by now. No doubt he’s gone looking. 

If he’s in a fit state. 

David gently takes the keys from Patrick’s grip before guiding them over to the car and opening the back door so Patrick can slide in next to Max. David’s not sure anyone could pry them apart anyway. 

“Both of you buckle, please,” he says as he settles into the driver’s seat and starts the car, not putting it in reverse until he hears the click of two distinct seatbelts. He watches in the rearview mirror and they wrap themselves around each other again, Max clinging onto Patrick’s shirt as Patrick rubs a steady hand up and down his back. 

It’s quiet for a while, until he hears Patrick say, “Hm?” And only then does David realize that Max is whispering secrets into Patrick’s chest. David doesn’t mind - there’s a lot about Max’s life that David isn’t privy to and there’s also something about Max and Patrick’s relationship that David will never have. And that’s okay. He has his own thing. 

And if Max feels more comfortable confiding in Patrick in this moment, David can honestly say he’s glad. Not every kid has someone like that. 

“He was yelling?” Patrick asks. 

In the rearview, David watches Max nod. 

“At you?” 

Max shrugs. “And the TV. He threw a beer at it.” 

Patrick holds him tighter as David returns his eyes to the road and strangles the wheel. “Did you see him have a lot of beer?” 

Max nods again.

“Okay, bud,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to his head. “We’ll be home soon.” But Patrick must glance out the window and notice their route because the next question he asks is, “Wait, where are you going?” 

David blinks. “Home,” he says, like it’s obvious. And it should be - Patrick _just_ said it. 

“I think we need to take him back to Jeannie’s. She doesn’t have her phone and if she comes back or goes to Richard’s and Max isn’t there... ”

Leave it to his husband to be rational when David is pretty sure that the only thing holding him together is the frame of this goddamn car. 

“Call the restaurant,” he says, grabbing Patrick’s phone where he had dropped it in the cupholder and passing it over his shoulder. “They’re at the new Thai place in Elm Glen. I forget the name but how many can there be?” he rambles. “His name is Sam. It’s small, they shouldn’t be hard to find.” _If they’re still there_ , he doesn’t say. It’s getting late. 

“Right.” 

David feels Patrick take the phone from his grasp, their fingers brushing, and there’s a pause as Patrick presumably looks the restaurant up online before dialing the number. 

“Hi, I’m trying to get a hold of someone who’s having dinner with you tonight. Her name is Jeannie Cantwell, but I believe the reservation is under Sam… I don’t have a last name, sorry. It would have been two at - ”

“7:30,” David supplies. 

“7:30,” Patrick says. There’s another pause. “Already gone,” he repeats for David’s benefit. “Thank you. No, I appreciate you looking… Right… Bye.” 

“Fuck,” David whispers. 

“It’s okay, we’ll just - let’s just swing by Jeannie’s and leave a note for her, and Max can pack an overnight bag just in case.”

“Okay,” David agrees, though he doesn’t like the idea. He’d prefer to go straight to their place. Home is what he knows. Home is safe. 

Patrick meets his eyes again in the rearview mirror and nods. “We’ll be quick.” 

Quick, however, was apparently not quick enough. 

It had been less than ten minutes once they pulled into the driveway. Less than ten to extract themselves from the car and use the hide-a-key Jeannie once showed them. Less than ten to get Max packed with pajamas, a toothbrush, and clothes for the following day. Less than ten for Patrick to write a quick note about what had happened and just where exactly Jeannie’s missing phone had gone.

Less than ten minutes, it turns out, was still two minutes too many. 

David has Max’s Spider-man backpack over his shoulder (with nary a snide comment of his own or a teasing comment from his husband, which just goes to show how tense they’re all feeling) as he makes his way to the door. 

“Honey, I really think you can just leave the note right here on the floor. She’ll see it as soon as she gets in. Now are you ready?” he calls, beginning to pull it open. “Because I really would like to go- oh.” 

And there, on the other side, fist raised to knock (pound, really) is Max’s father. Richard. Dick. 

“Oh,” the guy blurts, like he wasn’t expecting David to be there, and he probably wasn’t. 

The small part of David’s brain that isn’t currently white noise idly wonders if Richard thinks he’s Jeannie’s date; if they’ve come home from their dinner early. The one and only time they saw each other in person was at the Father’s Day game and that was from a distance. In his eyes, David could be. 

But then Richard says, “So you’re the fairy raising my son,” putting a rather pedestrian period on the end of the discussion before it even began. 

David almost rolls his eyes. “Actually the mother of your child is doing a rather phenomenal job of raising him on her own. If you were around more, you might notice.” 

Richard’s eyes are a little glassy so David knows that if he swings, there’s a chance he’ll miss. David also knows that Richard has at least three inches and thirty pounds of muscle on him and the chances of him missing, even while inebriated, are small.

“What did you say to me, you fa-”

“Finish that sentence, I fucking dare you,” Patrick says, coming out of nowhere and getting a hand on David’s back. He doesn’t step in front of him, not yet at least, because he knows David is more than capable of fighting his own battles. Which David is, though he’d honestly rather not. He’s wearing Balmain. 

Also ‘fuck’ coming out of his husband’s mouth outside of the bedroom would do things for him in literally _any_ other circumstance and he glares at Richard for taking that from him. 

Richard’s gaze darts sluggishly between them, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut. Even from here, David can tell that the man probably shouldn’t have been driving.

“David, take Max to his room please?” Patrick asks tightly, and as much as David doesn’t want to leave his husband alone with this asshole, he also knows that Max doesn’t need to see his father like this. He drops the backpack on the ground and turns to find the kid standing in the doorway to the hall that leads to the bedrooms, paler than the milk bath at The Ritz in Dubai. He steps closer and Max immediately holds his arms out, so David picks him up without a word, letting him cling tightly in a way he never has before.

David doesn’t do this. Patrick is the one Max runs to for comfort, but right now, Max is holding onto him like David is the last buoy in a stormy sea. He can feel his little heart rabbiting against his chest and he knows his own is not much better as he walks with him down to his room and sits with him on the bed. 

David can’t help but look around; can’t help but think about the last time he was in this room with Max, when Max was accusing Patrick of trying to take his father’s place. Now Patrick is out there trying to defend Max from that very same man. 

“You have to go help Uncle Patrick,” Max says, wriggling out of David’s hold enough to look him in the face and tap frantically on his arm. 

“Uncle Patrick is quite capable of handling himself.” Which is true. Though Richard has height and weight on him, Patrick is compact and scrappy when he needs to be. David’s seen him play hockey. 

It doesn’t mean David isn’t _freaking_ the _fuck_ out, though. 

“I don’t want him to get hurt,” Max murmurs. 

“He’s not gonna get hurt,” David assures despite the fact that all his brain can think is _PATRICK, GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE._

“Uncle David, _please._ ” 

“Okay, okay,” he whispers. “How about I go to the end of the hall and check. I’ll make sure he’s okay. You stay here.” 

“But what if _you_ get hurt, too?” 

David sighs, though the thought did cross his mind. He hasn’t been in a fight in years, and the skills he learned during that week of Krav Maga classes with Leo have long since faded.

“If you _swear_ not to move, you can poke your head into the hall and you’ll be able to see me the entire time.” 

Max blinks those wide, wet eyes at him. “Promise?” 

Something inside of him breaks. “Promise. I won’t let anything happen to Uncle Patrick.” Then he stands and makes his way over to the door, shaking out his trembling hands as he goes. 

“Uncle David?” 

“Yeah?” he asks, turning. 

“I don’t want anything to happen to you either.” 

And outside of his husband, his family, and his best friend, David honestly isn’t sure anyone has ever cared for his well-being as much as Max does in this moment. But he’s made enough promises tonight, promises he’s, like, 89% sure he’ll be able to keep, so all he says is: 

“Your feet do not leave this room.” And then he waits until Max nods before turning and quietly making his way down the hall. 

It doesn’t sound like anyone’s getting the crap beaten out of them so jazz hands for small mercies. He pauses before he reaches the living room and looks back to find Max peeking out of the bedroom. David waves briefly before looking around his own corner and catching sight of his husband. 

Patrick is still standing in the middle of the doorway, back tense, his left hand on the frame and his right on the door, effectively blocking Richard from entering. David can’t quite make out what they’re saying but he promised Max he wouldn’t leave his sight so he stays where he is.

“... keep me from my son.” 

“This isn’t your house. You’re not getting through this door.” 

And though this is _definitely_ not the time, _damn_ if David doesn’t find that hot. He inches further into the living room, making sure to keep himself where Max can see. He gives him a little thumbs up to let him know Patrick’s okay and Max nods in return, his little fingers gripping the door frame but his toes staying just behind the line.

Because he promised. 

“What the _hell_ is going on?” Jeannie suddenly yells, and David can see her marching up the path over Patrick’s shoulder, her heels hanging from her hooked fore- and middle fingers. 

Richard spins so quickly, he nearly sends himself toppling off the step. “Max ran away and now _this_ \- ” he gestures to Patrick. 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she interrupts, her tone warning and her eyes fire. 

“This guy,” Richard says lamely but smartly, because David _knows_ what word wanted to come out instead, “won’t let me see him.” 

“He doesn’t want to see you,” Patrick replies evenly before turning to Jeannie. “He called us. We tried to get you at the restaurant, but you had already left.” 

“Where is he?” Jeannie asks, and Patrick nods his head backwards. 

“Safe. With David.”

Oh. 

_Safe. With David._

That’s… 

Well. 

Because when has anyone ever equated safety with David’s presence? When has anyone ever felt comforted by it save for the man who decided David was his for life? 

He looks back at Max, at the child currently staring at him like everything will be okay as long as he’s there, in sight, so David walks back down the hallway, holding his arms out first for once, letting Max gratefully climb into his embrace. 

“Your mom’s here, it’s okay.” He feels him nod against his shoulder as he walks with him into his room and places him on his bed once more. Everything will be fine now. 

Max automatically reaches out for Patrick’s baseball glove and clutches it to his chest. If David strains, he can hear the continued conversation through the window, so he walks over and peeks through the curtain, watching as Jeannie takes the cell phone Patrick is handing her. The one Max had snatched like Winona in Saks because he’s smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for. 

“I’m calling your brother to come get you,” Jeannie clips. “You can’t drive like this.” 

“The hell I can’t.” 

“Rich, it’s Jack or the police. You pick.” She pins him with a look. “I’d take great delight in calling the latter, but I’m pretty sure our son doesn’t need to see his father hauled away in handcuffs. He’s been scarred enough for one night, don’t you think?” 

Richard’s shoulders slump, but Jeannie already has her cell to her ear and she reaches out to grab the car keys dangling limply from his hand. 

“You’ll get these back when Jack gets here. Pick up your car tomorrow morning. I don’t want to see you when you do.” 

David drops the curtain back into place, thoroughly assured that Jeannie and Patrick have this well in hand, and sits on the bed once more, letting Max lean into him. 

“Grown-ups, am I right?” he sighs. 

“Yeah,” Max murmurs, scooting closer until the kid is practically in his lap. He’ll allow it. Just this once. 

The front door eventually slams and two sets of hurried footsteps run down the hall. 

“Max?!” Jeannie’s voice calls moments before she appears in the doorway. 

“Mommy,” Max cries, sliding off the bed and meeting her halfway across the room. She bundles him up in her arms and pulls him in tight, pressing a hand to the back of his head and rocking him back and forth. 

Patrick appears in the doorway and immediately seeks out David, mouthing a _Hi_ that David is quick to return. He wants to go to him, but he doesn’t want to interrupt the reunion happening in the center of the room. 

“Are you okay?” Jeannie asks as she leans away and cups Max’s face, looking him over for any hurts only a mother can see. 

“I’m okay. Uncle Patrick and Uncle David got me super fast.”

Jeannie exhales roughly and drops her chin to her before lifting her eyes to meet her son’s once more. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me you didn’t want to go?” 

“I did want to go,” Max assures. “Sort of. In the beginning.” Then he shrugs. “But I knew Dad didn’t have a landline anymore even though you said everyone should have one in case of emergencies, so I took - ”

“This?” She holds up her phone and raises an eyebrow. 

Max nods. “From your purse. On the counter before we left.” He inhales shakily, pushing forward even as his voice trembles. “And I’m glad I did because - ‘cause Dad didn’t seem like Dad after a while, and I got scared and wanted to leave so I called Uncle Patrick.” 

Patrick meets his gaze again and swallows hard. David wishes he could touch him.

“You brave, smart, sneaky thing,” Jeannie breathes, barely holding it together. “But what if Uncle Patrick or Uncle David didn’t answer, huh? You wouldn’t have been able to get to me.”

Max shrugs again, the sheepish shrug of a kid who didn’t quite think things through. David really doesn’t want to contemplate the alternatives, and the quietly devastated look on his husband’s face suggests he doesn’t really want to either. 

“Next time ask please. And just, _talk_ to me.” 

“Yes, Mom.” 

“I don’t need to add kleptomania to the growing list of things you’re frighteningly good at.” She hugs him again and meets David’s eyes over his shoulder, mouthing _thank you_ with more feeling than she can properly express at the moment. 

He bites his lips and nods, throat going tight as he toys absentmindedly with the leather of Patrick’s baseball glove. 

A knock on the front door comes a minute later and everyone looks toward the hall. Patrick immediately tenses, still braced for a fight, but Jeannie just sighs wearily. 

“Jack’s probably here.” 

“Do you want me to go?” Patrick asks, but Jeannie shakes her head. 

“I’ve got it,” she says, pulling Richard’s car keys from her pocket and standing. “But thank you,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s cheek as she passes. 

It doesn’t stop Patrick from following after her, though. 

David stays where he is, because Max shouldn’t be alone, but then the kid turns where he sits on the floor and looks at him with those big Bambi eyes. “Are you mad at me?” 

And it tosses David back to that tense afternoon in the store so abruptly, that for a moment, he’s thrown by more than just the question. “Why on earth would I be mad at you?” 

“Because Mom is,” he replies, and David truly wonders how Max could have been a part of the scene that just transpired and come to the conclusion that _anger_ was the feeling Jeannie was exuding. If anything, it’s fucking relief. David should know because he feels it as acutely as if someone just lifted Bella Hadid’s 10 pound Met Gala veil from his head. 

Then again, Max is eight. Everything is the end of the world when you’re eight. 

Outside, a door slams and a car starts, signaling that this nightmare of an evening is almost over. 

“Your mom isn’t mad at you, Maximus,” he says. “She’s mad at your dad.” For good fucking reason. 

“Okay,” Max murmurs, but he doesn’t look convinced. 

David stands and crouches down in front of him, grateful to be in his joggers because his thighs do not appreciate being in this position. “We are all very, very happy you’re safe. _That’s_ what your mom feels. Okay?” Max nods. “Okay. Now, stay here for a minute,” he says as he stands to see what Patrick and Jeannie are up to now that her ex and his brother are gone. 

He tiptoes down the hallway, following the sound of hushed, muffled voices, stopping at the entry to the living room and watching Jeannie fall completely apart in his husband’s arms. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Patrick says quietly, letting her sob into his shoulder. “It’s okay.” 

“It could have been so bad,” she manages. 

“I know,” he whispers. 

“Thank God you were home. I can’t help but think - ”

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t think about it. You’ll only make yourself crazy.” Then he meets David’s gaze across the room and gives him a pained look, his loud eyes asking the unasked question. David nods. “Do you want to stay with us tonight?” 

“Max already packed a bag,” David offers as he steps closer, pointing at the backpack he had dropped earlier. “Maybe you shouldn’t be alone tonight.” 

She pulls away and groans, wiping at her face. “You know, I think you’re right.”

“First time for everything,” he replies and she laughs. “Go pack.” 

“We can go in our car and I’ll drop you off back here tomorrow,” Patrick offers casually. “Or, you know, stay as long as you want.” 

She bites her lip and nods, looking on the verge of tears again. “Thank you. This can’t happen again. Max can’t - ” But she trails off, looking down at the carpet, and shakes her head. 

David knows how stressful and scary this can be - taking action against someone who was supposed to care for you. He’s had to do it more than once and it never got easier. For now, though, he’s glad Patrick is close enough to put a hand on Jeannie’s shoulder and squeeze. 

“I have sole custody anyway, but he gets visitation. For the moment.” Then she looks up with the same kind of red-hot determination she had in her eyes when staring at an empty parking lot the first time David ever met her. “I will permanently remove Max’s father from his life if I have to.” 

“And we will help however we can,” David offers, not daring to look at his husband because he knows his face will be doing that upside down smile he gets whenever David surprises him and his eyes will be far too much for any one human to handle. 

“Whenever you need,” Patrick affirms.

“I may call Sam when I get to your place. If you wouldn’t mind distracting Max for me.” 

“Not your actual lawyer?” David blurts without meaning to. 

Jeannie exhausted features stretch into a grin. “I’ll call her tomorrow, but I just gave Sam, and I quote, ‘the best first kiss of his life’ so I’m thinking that qualifies me for some friendly free legal advice.” 

David raises an eyebrow and points at her. “We will be revisiting that salient point at a more appropriate time.” 

She smiles and wipes at her cheeks, clearing her throat and shaking out her arms. “Do I look like I’ve been crying?” 

Patrick glances at David with wide-eyed hesitation and David grimaces. “Mkay, do you want the real answer or the supportive answer?”

She barks out a laugh, muttering, “And on that note...” as she disappears into the hall once more. “Give me two minutes!” 

David waits a few seconds after she disappears before turning and staring at his husband. His husband, who’s looking back at him like he’s the last comfort left in this world. 

It’s the first time they’ve been alone since they picked up Max barely an hour and yet years ago. David feels like he’s aged considerably in the interim. Unadulterated fear will do that to a person. 

Patrick steps forward and wraps his arms around him, knowing what David wants without him having to ask; knowing what he needs before the thought even crosses David’s mind. 

He buries his face in Patrick’s shoulder, breathing in an unsteady breath and focusing on the faint press of lips against his neck - a movement as habit as a heartbeat, pressed up against David’s own. They inhale and exhale in tandem, their chests rising and falling like a tide, and David lets his husband take a bit more of his weight because Patrick will never not prop him up, physically and emotionally, in whatever way David needs. 

Before he can say anything, tiny arms worm their way in between them and he looks down to find Max hugging Patrick’s side, face pressed into his shirt, and as much as David wants his husband to himself in this moment, he recognizes that Max might need him more. 

Patrick kisses him on the neck one more time before letting go so Max can hug him properly. 

“I was really scared for you,” the kid says, so quietly and so muffled against Patrick’s stomach that David almost has to bend down to hear. 

“I was okay, bud,” Patrick replies, cupping Max’s head and rubbing his other hand up and down his back. “I’m okay.” 

Max nods but doesn’t let go, not until Jeannie comes back with her own bag in her hand and a look on her face that screams _let’s get the fuck out of here_. 

Richard is well and truly gone, David knows this, but that doesn’t stop him from looking around the second they open the front door, like Richard’s waiting in the bushes, ready to jump out like an FBI raid. Patrick seems to be of the same mind if the way he (consciously or not) keeps Jeannie and Max between them en route to the car is any indication. 

The ride to the cottage is quiet, though Max does mention that he now has all of the restroom locations in Elm Falls Park memorized thanks to his time with the maps should anyone be in need sometime in the future. They change into pajamas upon arrival (but not before Patrick releases Norah so Max can get a proper cuddle). David lets her out into the backyard to do her business, keeping an eye on her with Max as Patrick opens a bottle of wine and gets three glasses out of the cabinet so Jeannie can call Sam. The dishes and pizza box from their dinner are still scattered on the coffee table, and Drew and Prince Henry will just have to wait for another day. 

They put on a movie of Max’s choosing, despite the fact that it’s almost his bedtime. David has no idea what it is, none of the adults seem to really be paying attention, but it’s enough of a distraction from the events of the evening that Max is able to nod off on the couch, his head on Jeannie’s lap and Norah curled around him. David is tucked into the chair on top of Patrick, his legs hanging over the side because no one seems to want to separate tonight. 

Patrick carries Max up the stairs to the guest room, Norah sleepily stumbling in his wake, as David checks (and then re-checks) the locks. It may be irrational but it brings him comfort, and he’ll take any small measure he can get these days. 

“This evening didn’t end quite how I thought it would,” Jeannie quietly says behind him and he turns in time to watch a sad smile cross her face. “I don’t think I can ever thank you both for what you did tonight.” 

But David just shakes his head. “No need. We were happy to.” But ‘happy’ isn’t the right word. “We’re glad that Max knew he could call us. It’s… good he knows we’re here.” 

“He does know that,” she whispers as she steps closer. “We’re very lucky, my little boy and I.” 

“Feeling’s mutual,” he replies, leaning down to accept the kiss she presses to his cheek as she squeezes his arm one more time. 

“Goodnight, David.” 

“Goodnight, Jeannie.” He watches her go for a moment, before turning out the lights and making his way up the stairs. The door to the guest room is closed as he passes and when he gets to his own, he finds his husband pulling the covers down and his puppy nowhere in sight.

“She’s abandoned us for the night,” Patrick murmurs with a pout and David huffs out a laugh. 

“She’s allowed. Encouraged, even. But just this once.” He pads over to the bed to press a kiss to Patrick’s lips before disappearing into the bathroom, hurrying through his routine because every second apart from his husband feels like an itch under his collar. He needs to be close to him, and he’d even push for some skin-to-skin contact if it wasn’t too cold and they didn’t have an eight-year-old sleeping down the hall. 

He slides beneath the sheets and tucks himself into the spot Patrick makes just for him, nuzzling up into his neck and wrapping an arm and a leg over his body. It’s been… A Day, and David knows he has to say something, but he’s just not sure what. 

“Are you okay?” he starts with. Quietly. Tentatively. 

“Are _you_?” Patrick returns. 

David sighs against his skin and runs his nose along his jaw. “He said some not nice things about us.”

Patrick hums, but David can’t get his tone. They’ve never had to deal with that before, at least not together. David isn’t entirely sure Patrick’s encountered it at all. 

“I forget, sometimes, that that exists,” Patrick says after a long moment. “That outside of this community, outside of our family, there are people who aren’t… good.” 

David wants to ask if Roland classifies as ‘good’ but in the grand scheme of things, David can (possibly begrudgingly) admit that, yes, he does. 

“I know it’s naive,” Patrick continues, “but - ”

“It’s not naive,” he replies. “It’s… nice that we’re able to have this.” But ‘nice’ is so inadequate a term. “So many don’t. We’re very lucky that Jeannie’s asshole ex-husband is the exception and not the rule.” He feels Patrick nod and hold him a little tighter, and David lets himself be held because, frankly, he fucking needs it. “You know, Max wasn’t the only one worried about you.” He tilts his head up so he can meet his husband’s eyes. “Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again.” 

Patrick swallows and lifts David’s hand to press a kiss to his knuckles; knuckles that David is very glad he didn’t have to use today. He would have, though. To protect Patrick, he would have done so much more. Which is maybe where Patrick was coming from. The kiss is a promise and David trusts in it enough to put his head back down and close his eyes, safe in his husband’s embrace. 

He then thinks of Max and how secure and content this child somehow feels with them. Patrick, sure, makes sense, but David? He can still feel Max’s tiny fingers digging into his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around David’s neck. He can still see the look in Max’s eyes that seemed to say _Yes, I’m okay with you._

“I haven’t felt that in a while,” he finally admits, once he’s able to put a finger on why he’s had this baseline level of nausea ever since Patrick’s phone rang all those hours ago. 

“Felt what?” 

“Just - pure, unmitigated fear.” 

“Like for the moths?” Patrick asks, voice rising in a teasing lilt, but David’s throat has gone tight and he can’t even smile and Patrick must _know_ because he tries to tug David closer even though they’re as close as they can be and exhales harshly into his hair. “I know, David.” 

“It was like Alexis all over again. A phone call and a scramble and a hope that everything would still be okay by the time I got there.” 

“I know, baby.”

“I was so fucking scared for him,” he says, voice breaking, and Patrick rolls him over, pressing him into the mattress and bracketing his forearms on either side of David’s head, covering him and comforting him in equal measure. 

“That’s what happens when you love someone,” he says simply, but David merely blinks. 

“I don’t - I don’t love Max.” 

Patrick smiles. “Okay.” 

“Patrick.” Because he _doesn’t_. 

“David.” Patrick stares at him and David stares back and then - 

“Oh fuck. I think I love him.” 

“There it is,” Patrick murmurs, pressing a kiss to his nose. 

“Nooooo, it’s the worst.” He grabs Patrick’s pillow and buries his face in it. 

“You can tell him how terrible it is over pancakes in the morning,” Patrick offers and the teasing lilt is back, thank God. 

He peeks one eye out. “Blueberry?” 

“With ricotta,” Patrick replies, putting his pillow back so he can press a slow, sensual kiss to David’s lips. 

“Don’t talk dirty to me when you can’t follow through, Mr. Brewer.” 

“We can be quiet,” he says, nipping at David’s chin. “God knows we got enough practice with Ray.” 

“Not with family over,” David firmly replies, still scarred from the time that Marcy misheard ‘coming’ for ‘come in.’

Patrick pulls away and smiles softly, almost smugly, eyes bright even in the dim light of the room. 

“What?” David asks, confused by this rather abrupt turn from sexy to sentimental. 

“Just - ” he shakes his head, “family.” 

It takes David a minute, but he gets there eventually. “Oh.” 

_That’s what happens when you love someone._

Family.

Who knew?

**Author's Note:**

> While Jeannie is on a date, Max's father is watching him for the evening and drinks a little too much. Though in no way does he abuse or threaten Max, his behavior is still enough to scare Max into running away and calling Patrick and David. When Max's father eventually faces them, he uses brief homophobic language.


End file.
